. "When the big rewards came out last week I stole
one of the gray seals from the bunch at headquarters to--to use it the
first time any crime was committed when I was sure I could lay my hands
on the man who did it. Don't you see? Of course he'd deny he was the
Gray Seal, just as he'd deny that he was guilty--but I'd have the
proof both ways and--and I'd collect the rewards, and--and--" The man
collapsed into the chair.

Carruthers was up from his seat, his hands gripping tight on the edge of
the desk as he leaned over it.

"Jimmie--Jimmie--what does this mean?" he gasped out.

Jimmie Dale smiled--pleasantly now.

"That he has told the truth," said Jimmie Dale quietly. "It is quite
true that Stace Morse committed the murder. Shows up the value of
circumstantial evidence though, doesn't it? This would certainly have
got him off, and convicted Clayton here before any jury in the land. But
the point is, Carruthers, that Stace Morse ISN'T the Gray Seal--and that
the Gray Seal is NOT a murderer."

Clayton looked up. "You--you believe me?" he stammered eagerly.

Jimmie Dale whirled on him in a sudden sweep of passion.

"NO, you cur!" he flashed. "It's not you I believe. I simply wanted your
confession before witnesses." He whipped the three written sheets from
his pocket. "Here, substantially, is that confession written out." He
passed it to Carruthers. "Read it to him, Carruthers."

Carruthers read it aloud.

"Now," said Jimmie Dale grimly, "this spells ruin for you, Clayton. You
don't deserve a chance to escape prison bars, but I'm going to give you
one, for you're going to get it pretty stiff, anyhow. If you refuse to
sign this, I'll hand you over to the district attorney in half an hour,
and Carruthers and I will swear to your confession; on the other hand,
if you sign it, Carruthers will not be able to print it until to-morrow
morning, and that gives you something like fourteen hours to put
distance between yourself and New York. Here is a pen--if you are quick
enough to take us by surprise once you have signed, you might succeed in
making a dash for that door and effecting your escape--without forcing
us to compound a felony--understand?"

Clayton's hand trembled violently as he seized the pen. He scrawled
his name--looked from one to the other--wet his lips--and then, taking
Jimmie Dale at his word, rushed for the door--and the door slammed
behind him.

Carruthers' face was hard. "What did you let him go